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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/songsofworldOOcobb 



Songs of the World 



By PERCIVAL B. COBB 

Author of '' The Call of Honor;' '' Lilies of the Valley ;' 

" The Son of Man/' " The Martyr's Return^' 

etc. J etc. 




THE GORNHILL COMPANY 
BOSTON 



ti- 



Copyright, 1921 

By 

THE CORNHILL COMPANY 



0CI.A622434 



INTRODUCTION 

These poems are songs of the world. They are 
not local. They speak for themselves. 

There is a touch of Edgar Lee Masters in them 
— it would be ridiculous to deny the fact. 

Forms are limited, and we do better to use a 
previously invented form than to spend our time 
vainly endeavoring to invent a new. Shall we 
hesitate to use a pail in which to pick this sea- 
son's berries just because somebody used the 
same pail last year and two years ago? 

P. W. W. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction . iii 

PART I 

The Song of the Author 1 

The World 3 

Chant of Thaddeus Playton^ Philosopher- 
Poet . * 4 

The Song of Dicky White^ the Little 

Fellow 5 

My Friend^ the Artist 6 

Wallace Greenwood^ the Sincere Man . . 7 

Canticle of Gertrude Bingle, the Noted 

Man's Daughter 8 

The Author Again 9 

Francis Clark^ the Happily Married Man's 

Lyric . 10 

Fritz Junker . 11 

Jennie Smart . . . 12 

Mark Pain^ the Pessimist 13 

High Muck-a-muck 14 

Maximillian Mutternicht 15 

Lufe 16 

The Sky's Song 18 

The Song of the Swallow 20 

The Song of the Valleys ...... 22 

Fire-Song 23 

Enthusiastic Sammy Sort of Sings ... 25 

The Parable of the Oak 26 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Song of the Pigmy 28 

Thomas Fox, the Observer^ Speaks ... 29 

The Wail of Walter, the Boy .... 30 

Ivan the Serf 32 

Jim Dirty-Dealer's Hymn 33 

The Psalm of Steven Optimist .... 35 

Francois Poilu 36 

5 

Trueman Sage 37 

The Cry of George Bion, Melancholy Poet 38 

Antonio's Song 39 

PART II 

The Dead Men's Duet 40 

Jennie Brome's Burial Chant .... 42 

The Death Song of John Rush .... 43 

Doctor Wilde . . .45 

Station-Agent Jones Hums to Himself . . 47 

Religious Joe's Lyric .49 

The Song of Kinney McKenny .... 50 

McKenny's Daughter Jean 52 

The Chant of Courteous Guffaws, the 

Forward Member 53 

The Deacon, William Friday's Hymn . . 55 

Mamie Howles, the Soloist's Solo ... 57 

Gladys Pond, the Organist 59 

Song of Julia Stowton, One of the Female 

Members 61 

Henry Gude, the Sexton's Song .... 63 

The Devil's Chorus 64 

[vi] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 

PART I 

THE SONG OF THE AUTHOR 

I sing of Truth, in varying cadencies, 

In various ways and styles — 

Hot-hearted, cool-brained — • 

Master of myself 

As far as a man can be master of himself, 

Amuser of the silly world, 

Yet teacher, too. 

But always slave to Truth. 

Hers are the thoughts — 

My part, the twanging of the lyre. 

And this is mine, the author's, song. 

You people do what you want with yours; 

But let me play upon my instrument 

And accompany Truth just as I please. 

When I am done, why then you may begin: 

One at a time goes best. 

Do not expect me to rip out of my throat 

An endless extemporaneous string of perfect 

verses — 
Only the liars do that. 

Sometimes we have to throw off polished stuff, 
Merely to make the children happy 

[1] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



And let them know that we can do it if we like; 

But rough and ready is our usual style — 

Suits best our nature, 

Truth's and mine. 

Don't think that what I sing is all about myself, 

For it is not. 

I assume, like an actor, different parts, 

Playing now the satirist. 

With curling, disdainful, sneering lips, 

And discordant notes 

That jar the very spinal cord 

Of some who come to listen and pay nothing 

(Sponges with seaweed still sticking to them); 

Now the spouter of allegory; 

Now and then the lover, the optimist. 

The sage, philosopher, business-man, 

Soldier, honest man, fakir, liar and fool; 

And then again the cynic. 

Twanging away like Nero when Rome was 

burnt. 
So many parts I play, but always in time with 

Truth. 



[2] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE WORLD 

I am the world. 

I give and take, but mostly take. 

My time is given free, 

But then I take it back again with usury. 

I bear and kill, but mostly kill. 

My bosom nourishes, but it buries too — 

Buries in the crumbling dirt. 

Though a child of Fate, 

I am a fateful and fatal mistress. 

I produce infants just to play with them. 

Those who give in to me I scorn. 

And all who oppose I torture slowly. 

My ways are plain, yet past all finding out. 

Why am I then not a cruel mother? 

Some of my children I love best — 

They are the geniuses. 

And them I crucify! 



[3] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



CHANT OF THADDEUS PLAYTON, PHILOSO- 

PHER-POET 

They call me lazy, 

Because I do not prance around 

Like a curious, mischievous monkey, 

And keep a-doing something all the time 

With my feet and hands. 

Is the 'handy man' 

The standard they judge me by? 

Why should I rise at four in the morning 

Because my nearest neighbor, 

A fussy, nervous fellow full of fidgets, 

Gets up at half -past three and boasts of it? 

While they are puttering at this and that, 

I take my necessary sleep. 

Or sit in pleasant solitude, 

Or stretch myself out on the grass 

And think of serious things. 

What do they know of thought? 

Their brains are in their feet. 

Why, let them call me what they like — 

Provided they leave me in peace 

To solve Life's problems 

And study out future courses. 

Some day those smart ones will pass away 

Like faded journals ten years out of date 

That no one ever reads: 

But I and my thoughts will always live. 



[4] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE SONG OF DICKY WHITE, THE LITTLE 

FELLOW 

I am a little fellow, I am. 

I never do much myself, 

But I prevent the big men — geniuses, you 

know — 
From boasting about themselves 
Or feeling their oats too much. 
People appreciate me more than them, 
Because what I say seems more reasonable. 
My jealous, narrow, limiting criticism 
Holds those great geniuses down 
Somewhere near our level, 
At least while they are alive; 
That is my service to the world. 
Otherwise how high might they ascend 
And make me and my kind 
Look like two-cent pieces run over by the cars! 
Yes, I hate giants — 
They sort of overwhelm me. 
In the end, you say? 

I guess in the end we both get our deserts; 
But what do I care about that 
When they are dead and cease to bother me? 



[5] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



MY FRIEND THE ARTIST 

My friend is an artist. 

He works in a city full of wealth, 

Giving to it his best. 

He is a genius. 

He paints those canvases on which are seen 

Ideals grandly and beautifully described. 

He represents the human face with skill, 

Landscapes, subjects of allegory, 

The swelling sea, religion, patriotism. 

He ekes a scanty living from his work. 

They Jew him down, glad for a little to get a 

lot. 
What do they care for art? 
Not when it costs them money! 
But when he dies, they'll boast of him, 
And say how great he was, 
And how much his canvases are worth. 
Bah! just to think how wealthy is that town 
In which he lives and works. 
And yet how mean! 



[6] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



WALLACE GREENWOOD, THE SINCERE MAN 

I always try to tell the truth, 

However hard it comes; 

But what incentive have I to tell the truth, 

When all around I see but liars? 

Not that I feel better than they. 

But I see more, 

And when they lie, not even knowing it, 

I see it and know them to be liars. 

An honest, truthful lie 

Is the noblest work of a liar: 

But most of them are sinful. 

What shall I do? Tell them the truth? 

And get a kick and sour looks and vengeance? 

Although r.m not responsible 

For all their characters and souls, 

Fd like to lift their burden if I could 

By making them realize the truth. 

But what shall I do? 

And what will they do to me? 



[7] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



CANTICLE OF GERTRUDE BINGLE, THE 
NOTED MAN'S DAUGHTER 

My father was a noted man, and I — 

His eldest daughter, you know — 

Am very proud of the fact. 

I am not extremely good-looking. 

But what difference does that make 

So long as I have brains 

(Begun with b like beans) 

And can boast, 

As I often love to do 

When gadding and hobnobbing 

With the wives of my husband's associates 

(He is a professor, you know), 

With the gossips of the club 

Of which I am president. 

And with the haughtiest of my neighbors, 

Whom I squelch properly as is right. 

That I am the daughter 

Of the late Gingle Bingle? 

And what difference does it make 

That I am a jealous female 

With a bitter tongue? 



[8] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE AUTHOR AGAIN 

This world is a beautiful world 

For all who make it beautiful. 

But for others it is a crazy world. 

Full of mischief and deviltry. 

Vague, bleak, incomprehensible, 

A mystery never understood, 

A place of torment unspeakable 

Overshadowed by a bitter end, 

A mocker of many pleasures planned, 

Choker of spindly ambitions, 

A grab-box filled with disappointments. 

Whose fault is it? 



[9] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



FRANCIS CLARK, THE HAPPILY MARRIED 
MAN'S LYRIC 

All people have to relieve their minds 
Once in a while, 

And have a friend who will listen. 
I found that most of what I said 
Went off on its rounds 
Through the town, 
Like the Xast Leaf* — 
To be laughed at! 
Then I got married, 
And now I have a faithful wife — 
Dear woman! — 

Who is my special confidante, and repeats noth- 
ing. 
What a difference 
One true friend of such a kind 
Will make in a man's life! 



[10] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



FRITZ JUNKER 

I have a cup, from which I drink. 

It's black from wear, 

Just like those cocoanut-shells 

They use in Porto Rico 

To drink their milk and water from; 

Contains but dirty dregs; 

Has hairs on the outside, 

Like the cocoanuts before being husked; 

Leaks considerably. 

But I fix that by putting my fingers over the 

cracks 
To stop them up and keep them from being 

seen; 
Is dirty inside as well as out. 
But I am not fussy about that; 
Has the likeness of a human face 
(From which some Germans say God's face was 

made) 
Smirched on the outside — 
Lips, nose, ears, eyes, and so forth, 
Painted on for effect; 
This cup is empty most of the timer- 
It is my head. 



[11] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



JENNIE SMART 

My song is worth hearing 

Because of my superiority. 

My parents endowed me with truly a wonderful 

mind, 
Which I make use of still more wonderfully. 
I went to school when I was young, 
And pride forced me to study hard — 
Pride and female vanity. 
Not that I had to do it, 
But just to show poor little Susie White, 
Christopher Blunt, Carrie Slow, Johnnie Dull 
And the other stupid ones, whose brains 
Were not, like mine, absorbent sponges. 
That they were nothing at all compared with 

me. 
My vanity was just like space — no limit to it! 
But I would never believe that. 
Being a woman. 
My teachers praised me, and sent home high 

marks, 
So I am proud as a peahen all my days. 
But what do my days amount to? 



[12] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



MARK PAIN, THE PESSIMIST 

How they ever came to name me 

As they did, I don't know. 

I hate my name like poison; 

And often I hate myself, 

And then I end by hating everybody. 

By nature I am very touchy — 

Sensitive is much the nicer word. 

And I never like to be opposed by any one. 

I haven't got so far in the world 

As a man of my ability should. 

Because my genius is not recognized. 

ril pay the world back before I die 

With green-eyed vengeance. 

If I could keep from over-eating 

My health would be much better, 

But somehow I can't help it — 

No doubt because of my strong will. 

What does life amount to, anyhow? 

I can't see much in people — 

They are a superficial lot. 

I am about the only person worth anything. 



[13] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



HIGH MUCK-A-MUCK 

I am great High Muck-a-Muck, 

Proud as a goose or downy duck. 
I am a nabob, nothing less, 

As fine as they make them, I confess. 
I can dance a jig as nice as you please, 

And I can side-step with great ease. 
I fox-trot, too, and tango back 

(This backward stepping is a knack). 
I spit out small-talk by the reams — 

No depth to it — and in my dreams 
I write perfumed society notes 

To mules and donkeys and to goats. 
My time and words and paper are cheap, — 

A piffling man's as good as a deep. 
I wear fine clothes and dress up swell 

To keep my soul from going to hell, 
ril be in honor when I die, 

And they will praise me up to the sky: 
"A wonderful man,'* the people will say, 

"How he could chatter, and act, and play! 
He could wriggle, and wroggle, and twist, and 
duck — 

Oh, he was a great high muck-a-muck!" 



[14] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



MAXIMILLIAN MUTTERNICHT 

When it comes to singing about oneself, 

I, the Austrian, can do it well — 

Mainly on account of my pride. 

My voice isn't much, 

But haughtiness makes up for voice. 

For centuries my ancestors 

Were rulers of the world. 

And God! didn't they rule it hard! 

A cruel lot — my ancestors, 

From whom I have inherited 

My cruelty, my strongest talent. 

Who is as great as an Austrian? 

Why should we not stamp down 

Our neighbors? 

And torture them to please our pride? 

What is pride for if not to satiate? 

Whether our pride has any connection 

With these our sufferings and woes, 

I can not say, not being a prophet. 

I only know that I am proud 

Of my inheritance. 



[15] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



LIFE 

Why shouldn't I sing, too? 

I can't stand to sit, and be outdone 

When it comes to talking or singing, 

On account of being so jealous, 

Like Man, that human animal 

That walks on two feet instead of four. 

Like the female half of Man, 

Who uses her clapper 

To drown out her better part 

Even though she has nothing to say, 

Just so am I, Life. 

What am I? a riddle. 

Where did I come from? 

I've heard that question so often 

That now I'm sick of it — 

Answer it yourself, if you can. 

What do I amount to? 

To most people, very little. 

Where am I going? 

Well, it's very plain to me 

That you don't know much, 

And never will, I'm afraid. 

Tooralooraloo! 

It makes me laugh 

To see how easily I can fool people. 

As I said, I am a puzzle. 



[16] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



And only those who can unlock me 
Can make any use of me — 
And they 
Are not many! 



[17] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE SKY'S SONG 

I am the Sky — enveloping the World. 

Think no ill of me, but only good of me. 

For I work always for Man's best welfare, 

However it may seem to him. 

I have strange moods, 

I must confess, 

But I am ever the same — the same, same Sky! 

Is it not wonderful to be thus — 

The same, yet ever changing? 

In appearance fickle, but faithful to the god? 

That is, to my god: — 

For what have I to do with Man's idolatries? 

When I am gray I am sullen — 

Sullen to be the butt 

Of Man's — ugh! syphilitic eyes 

And pestilential breath. 

When I am black I am angry — 

Angry at Man's wickedness and evil. 

I often strike, and blast, then. 

With my scourging thunderbolts, 

Whips for the wicked. 

When I am blue I am sad — 

Sad for the foolishness of Man, 

Sad to see how he deceives himself 

With empty shapes: 

Mistaking artificiality for beauty, 



[18] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



Brutality for strength, 

Sexual selfishness for love, 

Mercenary shrewdness for greatness, 

Fine mansions for homes. 

Notoriety for honor, 

Memory for lofty thought, 

New clothes for high ideals. 

Mechanical prowess for deity. 

Speed for life, 

And church religion for spirituality. 

At night I let the stars shine through. 

So Man can see how small he is; 

But he is blind to that — 

Blind to everything but flattery. 

Oh! I know Man better than he knows himself. 



[19] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE SONG OF THE SWALLOW 

No matter what my evolution was, 

Tm now a bird, 

Have wings with which I fly, 

And spend the greater part of my days 

Sailing through the air — 

That lovely, liquid sea of air 

That intoxicates but never drowns. 

Tu-wit tu-woo tu-wee tu-wi — 

I move my wings, and thus I fly 

Across the wind-blown reach of sky; 

Leave me my freedom, or I die — 

Tu-wit tu-woo tu-wee tu-wi! 

What is clumsy Man to me, 

The graceful, flitting bird? 

What to me are all the heavy animals 

That plod about in dirt and dust 

On tired hands and feet 

Or in their awkward wagons? 

I laugh at them — I scorn them! 

I turn and wheel above them 

Derisively. 

Once in a while I see a comrade 

Touched to the death 

By Man's hot speaking tube, 

But I am cautious, and keep away from it. 

I have no love for Man — 



[20] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



I trust him not! 

And oh! how glad I am 

That I am not an Auk — 

A great American Auk! 

Tu-wit tu-woo tu-wee tu-wi — 

I stretch my wings, and swiftly fly 

Across the liquid reach of sky; 

Leave me my freedom, or I die — 

Tu-wit tu-woo tu-wee tu-wi! 



[21] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE SONG OF THE VALLEYS 

We lie between the mountains and the hills, 

Verdant, full of fruit, and fertile. 

Peaceful and calm 

Except when the spring floods come 

With a rush to frighten Man 

And cover the Earth with more fertility. 

We love the mountains 

Because we admire them — 

They fill us with awe; 

They rise above us like giants. 

And over shadow us entirely: 

But we are not jealous of them — 

Why should we be? 

If we were lofty mountains, 

We could not be the valleys! 

We do our part in the world. 

And are very happy. 

Some day of course 

We may be changed to mountains 

By a terrible upheaval, 

But till then we shall remain 

Contented, peaceful, fertile valleys. 



[22] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



FIRE-SONG 

I have existed from the Beginning, 

If there ever was a beginning, 

And will endure until the end of Time, 

If there will be an end of time. 

I was doing my work with regularity 

Billions and billions of aeons — • 

Nay, trillions upon sextillions — 

Before that chattering animal called Man 

E'er climbed a tree to escape from snakes. 

Yet I have reason to believe 

He thinks that he invented me! 

He thinks that he controls me! 

Ah ha! ah ha! ah ha! 

I sweep across his cities now and then 

To warn him of his mistake. 

And lay his buildings low, 

And make things desolate. 

I burn his^ little shacks called houses 

And drive him gasping out of doors 

In the dead of night, light-clad or naked. 

To show him who's his master. 

A servant, I? ah ha! ah ha! ah ha! 

I helped to civilize the brute 

By cooking his earth-grown food 

And giving him heat to warm his body; 

But what has it all amounted to? 



[23] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



Cooking and heat have made him degenerate, 

So now he's worse than when a hairy ape — 

At least, many specimens of him. 

I love to creep in on him unawares 

And frighten him half to death, 

And consume to very ashes 

The place wherein he lived 

And plotted so much evil! 

His wicked thoughts and deeds 

Do not escape my eye — ah ha! ah ha! 

For I am one of the everlasting deities. 

For billions and billions of aeons — 

Nay, trillions upon sextillions — 

After he has disappeared 

Like the bison he cruelly exterminated, 

I will be roaring and shouting my songs— 

Ah ha! ah ha! ah ha! 



[24] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



ENTHUSIASTIC SAMMY SORT OF SINGS 

It is a wonderful pleasure 

To travel across the water 

And see some other countries 

In this beautiful world, 

While defending our fatherland 

Against an invasion of cultured and civilized 

savages. 
The monuments of Britain 
Fill me with awe; 
And France is full of inspiration. 
I have often longed to go abroad, 
But never had the opportunity. 
Now comes the chance, 
And I am going to make the most of it. 
Come on, boys, start 'er up — 
Three cheers for the Allies! 



[25] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE PARABLE OF THE OAK 

I was a tree in the open. I stood alone. 

The winds blew hard against me, 

Shaking my branches to test them 

And give them strength. 

Once came a hurricane 

That wanted to tear me up by the roots, 

But I was strong, and only laughed, 

Although I had a struggle to hold my own. 

Yet all my coimrades were not enemies: 

The sunshine came to make me flourish. 

To help my little leaves perform their task 

Of getting and giving energy. 

And brought great happiness to me, 

And I was very grateful; 

The rain brought moisture for my roots 

When they were thirsty — 

Life-blood for them. 

And also washed my dusty leaves; 

The zephyrs and south-winds came 

Caressingly, laden with love, 

And played about me and with me. 

Giving me exercise and inspiration. 

The birds approached me trustingly, 

And sang their songs of joy to me, 

Mated, builded their nests. 

And reared their little families 



[26] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



Protected by my noble foliage; 
And in my shade the sheep and cattle found re- 
lief. 
My heart was large and strong, 
My limbs were gnarled with heavy knots, 
My roots went deep and made a heavy base 
For me to stand upon and reach. 
I was a wonderful tree. 
But then the chattering squirrels came, 
And chewed my heart out; 
The little boys built fires in my trunk; 
And finally a farmer came 
And chopped me down for fire-wood. 
Yet some of my acorns sprouted, 
And other oaks — my children — are growing big. 
This is my life in parable and song. 



[27] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



SONG OF THE PIGMY 

In the depths of the forest I live, 

As happy as any man, 
Getting much more than I give — 

Getting as much as I can! 
I climb into a tree 

With arrows and a bow, 
And shoot at all I see — 

Beings that come and go. 
My arrows are poisoned, too — 

Tipped with my deadliest hate, 
That carries incurable death into 

People that look too late. 
I am a savage, yes. 

And dwell in the forest, apart 
From people who carefully dress 

And gather in the mart; 
But also I represent 

The jealous everywhere 
Who filled to the brim with evil intent 

Spread poison through the air. 



[28] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THOMAS FOX, THE OBSERVER, SPEAKS. 

What I have to say will not take long 

Because I am not much 

Of a lyric poet. 

However, what's the odds? 

Better sense in prose 

Than no sense in verse, 

I say. 

If you don't know why. 

It would be a waste of time 

To try to explain it to you — to YOU. 

Well, the average woman is much less decent 

In actuality than in appearance; 

The average man 

Is much more decent in actuality 

Than in appearance. 

It does seem strange. 

But you will understand it 

If you study out by yourself 

The differences in the natures 

Of man and woman. 



[29] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE WAIL OF WALTER, THE BOY 

This ain't no age fer boys, 

I kin tell you that! 

Wimmin an* girls are bossin' everythin' 

Nowadays — 

That's what my father said, 

An' you jest bet he knows! 

I saw 'im run frum ma the other day, 

An' I sez to 'im, *'Hullo, Pa, 

Whatcher runnin' fer?" 

He eyes me ruther sad like. 

An' then he sez, sez 'e: 

**Was you a-watchin' me, Johnnie?" 

'^Course I was, Pa," I sez to 'im. 

'That's right, my boy," sez 'e, 

*Learn yer lessons early," 

An' then 'e went off coughin.' 

Poor Pa — I pity 'im — 

He ain't no man, 

I kin see that, all right, all right. 

He wouldn't let Ma boss 'im so. 

If 'e was — would 'e, though? 

Pa said when 'e was a boy 

They had some fun on Fourth of July — 

Shootin' off big fire-crackers. 

Pistols, guns, torpedoes, caps, an' cannon, 

An' ringin' bells an' blowin' horns 



[30] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



An' havin' a dandy time! 
Taint anythin' like that now — 
It's a regular sissy day, 
Fer girls, but not fer boys. 
Ma sez she thinks the wimmin 
Will own this country some day, 
An' run it as they please. 
You jest bet if they do, 
ril run away an' hide! 



[31] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



IVAN THE SERF 

I have the name of one of the heroes 

Of "Or Sylvanus Cobb"— 

As an American poet called him. 

Read about my namesake. 

He lived at a different time from me, 

When Russia was an empire. 

What oh! is Russia now? 

Left to the pitiful protection 

Of treacherous, vain, and cowardly women? 

(Their general knows all about them — 

Ask her, and she will tell you the truth.) 

Oh, why am I so ignorant? 

Oh, why am I so helpless? 

Oh, why am I so miserable? 

God pity me — I am but a serf 

In a lost country 

That's like a maimed and hunted deer 

Attacked by wolves. 

Why is it so? Ask the ruling classes. 



[32] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



JIM DIRTY-DEALER'S HYMN 

The wicked have striven against me, 

But all to none avail, 

Because I had the Lord with me. 

I won the battle 

By shouting very loud 

So that it hurt my enemy's ear. 

And saying bitter things to him 

For to discomfort him. 

Why was he my enemy? 

Because I was jealous of him. 

Since he was better than I 

And got more praise. 

But it all was false — 

He was not better than I, 

As I have triumphed over him 

By the help of the Lord, 

Who always helps the man who calls to him 

No matter how just or jealous. 

I triumphed, oh I triumphed, 

I defeated him 

By underhanded dealings, 

And now I am glad and happy! 

How beautiful it is to triumph! 

How glorious is the Lord, 

Who helped me to victory 

Against my enemy, 

[33] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



The man of whom I was jealous 

To such an extent 

That my life was not worth living! 

But I deserve the credit, 

As the Lord only looked on — 

I can not share the credit 

For my wonderful victory — oh, no! 

People of whom I am jealous 

Had best watch out, 

For I am full of victories, 

And am perfectly willing for the Lord 

To look at me while I fight 

My dirty, underhanded battles. 



[34] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE PSALM OF STEVEN OPTIMIST 

I thank thee, God, that thou hast made 

The earth and put me on it. 

I thank thee also — even more — 

That thou didst make me wise enough 

To learn 

What kind of a world this is — 

The world of humanity, I mean. 

I thank thee that thou hast ordained Death 

To follow after Life, 

To give us poor fellows a chance 

To get away finally 

From treacherous friends and relatives. 

But most I thank thee, Lord, 

That thou hast so well arranged it 

That we can't hear all that our neighbors 

Say about us. 



[35] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



FRANCOIS POILU 

It is hard to see my native land, 

Which I so love, 

Overrun with Prussian vermin 

And their allies 

(Really their slaves), 

And made in part their prey. 

Oh, how I loathe the beasts! 

The plague of locusts in Egypt 

Was beautiful compared with this. 

The dirty rodents must be driven back, 

But not with music! 

Shall we not try our best 

To exterminate the worst of them? 

And of the rest 

We must clip their claws and teeth. 

Woe to the poisonous Prussian rats! 

If they must be so filthily destructive, 

Why, shall we not in turn 

Defend ourselves against them with all our 

might? 
For I believe in the Divine Right 
Of Self Defence. 



[36] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



TRUEMAN SAGE 

I know more 

Than all the rest of the world put together,- 

Not more facts, but truth. 

Yet I dare not say this openly — 

Only in poetry: 

For people hate to hear one say 

That he knows more than they, 

Even if it is so, 

Nay more, because it's so! 

They would not mind so much 

If it wasn't so. 

What do I know? 

What's good for man. 

The very nature of man, naked and bare. 

Stripped of its falsehoods and vanities. 

The mysteries that puzzle others 

Gladden me, because I understand them. 

Other things— but hold— gather your hate. 

And then prepare to listen to me, the Sage. 



[37] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE CRY OF GEORGE BION, MELANCHOLY 

POET 

A terrible longing seized my soul 

And filled it with agony; 

Melancholy overshadowed me 

Laden with cares of all the years. 

Heart-suffocating phantoms from the past 

Hedged me about with shadows — 

Shadows of aspirations unfulfilled, 

The proud heart's labor lost, 

Affections unexpressed and unreturned — 

Happy moments merging into dusk! 

I sobbed with pain, 

Struggled in vain against the shrouding cloud, 

And flung a curse 

Into the gloomy world! 



[38] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



ANTONIO'S SONG 

We have not been a modern nation long, 

But spirit makes up for youthfulness. 

What is a youth without spirit? 

Without patriotism? 

And what does that man amount to 

Who never has had to sacrifice 

Something dear for something dearer? 

Take me, lovely Italy, 

And make of me a stalwart bulwark 

Against thy cruel enemies. 

Dulce est pro patria moriri. 

Our Virgil said, and he was right. 

Better for me to die than Italy! 

More beautiful is honorable death 

Than a useless life: 

That is my philosophy. 



[39] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



PART II 
THE DEAD MEN'S DUET 

A dead man called unto his neighbor, 

Once in a cemetery: — 
"With how much useless fuss and labor 

They set about to bury!" 
"Nonsense!" the other gravely said. 

*T can not but believe 
The trouble is most amply paid 

By the money dead men leave. 
The sexton digs a home for us, 

Quite cosy, in the ground: 
For him the digging is no fuss — 
He's paid to heave the mound. 
The coffin-maker breathes a sigh 

Of joy whene'er he sells 
A box ridiculously high — 

He loves the funeral bells. 
The oily undertaker draws 

His dollars from the heap, 
Yet though he chuckles and guffaws 

He does appear to weep. 
And what about the weeping heirs? 

How mournful they must be! 
They go about with saddened airs 

Though full of gaiety." 



[40] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



**You're right," called back the other ghost, 
*'When dead men leave a treasure. 

No matter what the burial cost 
It is an act of pleasure!" 



[41] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



JENNIE BROME'S BURIAL CHANT 

They took me through the door 
In a pine-box rude and poor 

To the dray; 
Then with a jeer and curse 
They shoved me in the hearse 

And drove away. 
It was a shame anH sin 
To see them drop me in 

Through the snow, 
And hear them throw the stones 
And dirt upon my bones 

Down below. 
The painters with a laugh 
Marked out an epitaph 

On some wood: 
Here lies old Jennie Brome, 
A pauper from the home, — 

Gone for good.' 



[42] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE DEATH SONG OF JOHN RUSH 

Tm cold — my limbs are numb — 
There seems to be no movement in my heart! 
Why, I can not close my eyes! 
Never mind — I'll lie still 
And take things easy. 
It will be a pleasant change for me: 
I never had much time to think before, 
So nervously I rushed from one thing to an- 
other. 
I heard a doctor say I died of overwork; 
But one of my relations said — 
I couldn't make out which one, 
Although it sounded like Cousin John, 
Who was interested in mental healing — 
The strongest of all my cousins. 
And the one I trusted most, he was so wise — 
He said I might have lived 
At least a generation longer, 
If I had only taken a rest 
Instead of medicine. 
I don't know — I took the doctor's advice. 
And I suppose they'll pay him from the estate. 
I left about a hundred thousand dollars. 
Hope they don't scrap over it too much. 
Say, this is awfully comfortable! 
Would I change places with Dr. Rich, you ask? 

[43] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



Not on your life! 

This sleep is too pleasant to be interrupted. 

With Kinney McKenny, the minister? 

Like h — I would! 

Let him manage his bunch of cats himself. 

With the soldier, or the sage? 

The liar, the honest man, the fool? 

The forward member or the deac — 

Oh, quit it, that's enough! 

I wouldn't change places with any living man. 

You make me nervous — 

Go away, and let me sleep in peace. 



[44] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



DOCTOR WILDE 

I am a doctor — that's what they call me, 

Although at times I am afraid 

I do not deserve the name. 

However, I do not kill as many patients 

As many of my associates. 

I do my best, at least — 

More than they do! 

I am only twenty years behind the times. 

While some of them are thirty and forty, 

And others stupid bunglers. 

And some are ugly brutes 

Who kill the men who contradict them 

Because they contradicted. 

I have had the temptation — 

God help me, so! — 

But thus far I have fought it off. 

I wish I didn't think so much of money! 

But one must live. 

And I am lenient with the poor. 

The other day a patient died — 

I had been giving her strong medicine 

For months and months — 

No wonder she died — ha! 

What's that I said? forget it — I mean, 

Yes, I was saying, there seemed to be 

No hope for her, 



[45] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



So I experimented. 

I did my best, but her stomach gave out — 

And her liver and kidneys. 

Lucky for us that our certificate 

Covers the law. 

I know doctors who make experiments 

(Rascally bunglers, they) 

Protected by the name of Science — • 

Like men styled Ornithologists 

Who shoot birds just to shoot them, 

But add to the knowledge of the world 

Not the hundredth part of a tittle. 

Lots of little girls and boys go that way. 

But so long as their time had come, 

What then's the odds? 



[46] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



STATION-AGENT JONES HUMS TO HIMSELF 

My position could be a lot worse than it is — 

Good pay, no fear of being fired, 

And lots of time to rest. 

Fm very well satisfied with life — 

Why shouldn't I be? 

Of course Fm pretty busy sometimes. 

Especially when trains come in, 

But that's exciting, 

And stirs my blood. 

It used to be quite dull for me 

Between trains 

Until I found that book that was left 

By somebody in the station — 

'Leaves of Grass' is the title. 

It is a wonderful book. 

And it gives me such wild ideas! 

Some afternoons 

I almost think I hear Walt Whitman 

(He wrote the book, you know) 

Roaring around the water-closet! 

Oh yes, I come in contact 

With a lot of vice. 

But what else could you expect 

Of a railroad station? 

Recently Fve kept 

The water-closet key in my office 



[47] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



And that does a lot of good; 

But still there^s plenty of vice, 

And filth, and germs, and bugs. 

M-hm! I hope I never get contaminated. 

My call— hullo, Westing Hill? 

Freight number 12 on siding? 

Bah! I thought that was Walt Whitman 

Again. 



[48] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



RELIGIOUS JOE'S LYRIC 

My father and mother were religious people, 

And like true Christians 

Had me taught in Sunday School 

Some of the rudiments of true faith. 

By the time I was twenty-one, 

The age when I should have been a man. 

They had me trussed like a stuffed fowl — 

A beautiful specimen of awful piety. 

I did not dare to believe anything reasonable, 

Or to dispute a single sacred word 

Of what the minister and S. S. teachers 

Crammed down that little throat of mine 

My parents held open for them. 

It's a wonder it didn't make me sick! 

But, really, I thrived on it 

Like a goat on tin-cans and old paper. 

Too late to change any of it now — it's fixed. 

Say, scrape the inside of my head, will you. 

And see if you can find a little brain? 

I think there ;must be something there. 



[49] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE SONG OF KINNEY McKENNY 

I am a preacher, I would have you know. 

My preaching is better than my singing, 

But I can sing when I want to, 

Although Fm no Caruso. 

Because I was Scotch, I always longed 

To become a minister. 

So I studied at a theological seminary 

To learn the tricks of the trade, 

Since the ministry is of course 

A trade — a profession — like any other. 

Only a little different. 

Some of the teachers there 

Were fable-huggers, crazy over .myths. 

Hanging on to Time 

Like last year's leaves on trees; 

Others were atheistical materialists. 

Specialists in logic and the verbal sciences. 

Between them I lost what religion I had; 

But that didn't trouble me much. 

As I smelt money ahead — 

Money, that cure of Scotchmen's sorrow. 

So I got a church. 

And have been working it ever since. 

Who knows I am not orthodox? 

If a Scotchman can not hide his thoughts. 

Who can? 



[50] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



It makes me snicker to see 

How easily I can fool them all. 

With those who might suspect 

I talk the essence of orthodoxy, 

That throws them off the track 

Like a doubling fox the dogs and bitches. 

Often I pray when I go to bed: — 

"0 Lord, I thank Thee very much 

That Thou didst not make me like these 

Sheepheads and silly calves, 

Who swallow paper and binding whole, 

But madest me clever — a cunning man — 

Kinney McKenny, a canny Scot!'* 



[51] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



McKENNY'S DAUGHTER JEAN 

I can sing with my father, 

Or I can sing alone. 

Perhaps you would prefer a solo, 

Seeing that my father has already sung. 

My life is not so happy as it ought to be: 

You see, I am an old maid 

(At least a maid, tho' not very old), 

With maidenhood intact and blood drying up, 

And getting crankier and crankier every day. 

I try my best to make my father's life 

A burden to him, 

But he is a faithful Scotchman, 

And trifles do not bother him 

So long as the money comes in — 

Why should they? 

Sometimes I blame my father, 

Sometimes I blame my lover — 

I mean the young man who courted me once. 

But of course I never blame myself. 

My lover — I like to call him that — 

Disagreed with my father on theology, 

Being a radical and very sincere. 

Finally I had to choose between them. 

And being Scotch I chose my father 

And let my lover go: 

I was driven to it — don't blame me. 



[52] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE CHANT OF COURTEOUS GUFFAWS, THE 
FORWARD MEMBER 

I am a forward member 

Of the church where the Rev. Kinney McKenny 

preaches, 
And sit in the third pew from front 
(Nobody sits in front of me, except 
When the church is full of evangelism 
Or other eccentricities), 
With my wife and two children. 
By rights I should not go to this church. 
Because it is a Presbyterian Church, 
And I am a Baptist; 
But there isn't any Baptist Church 
In the vicinity — 

Main reason, I am sure, for so much sin 
In town. 

We Baptist wash away our sin — 
Original sin — 
When we are baptised 
With water and with spirit 
(I like spirits the best, and I think 
That the Rev. Kinney McKenny does, too), 
And always after that are free from sin. 
No matter what we do. 
Oh, it pays to be a Baptist! 
You want to know my name? why not? 

[53] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



Courteous Guffaws, 

They christened me, for a joke, 

I myself don't think it much of a joke, 

But what can I do about it? 

They fastened it to me by God, 

And I must e'er abide by it, 

Or be in danger of hell-fire. 

Which isn't good for Baptists, 

On account of the water. 

My children were not christened here — 

Not on your life! 

Why, I drove twenty miles 

To have them properly douched in a pond, 

By God! 

(That wasn't swearing, please.) 

See these tickets? orchestra seats in Heaven. 

Sh! these Presbyterians will never get there! 



[54] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE DEACON, WILLIAM FRIDAY'S HYMN 

Hallelujah! praised be God! 

I am one of the senior deacons 

In Kinney McKenny's church — I mean my 

church, 
Where McKenny preaches. 
I hate him — jealousy, you know — 
But don't tell anybody about it. 
I would like to be the minister, 
And get the attention of everybody, 
And have his social prestige. 
I make things hard as hell for him 
Behind his back, 
But nobody knows of it, 
Because they respect their senior deacon — 
Ha! 

I hate Courteous Guffaws, too, 
Because he is a forward member, 
And is no Presbyterian. 
He will go to hell, sure, and I am glad. 
He thinks too much of himself, anyway. 
Hallelujah! praised be God! 
Three cheers for the trinity! 
No man here is more orthodox than I, 
Unless it be Kinney McKenny; 
But God will damn him for something, I know! 
For being Scotch, perhaps. 



[55] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



I am of English descent, a Yankee now, 

With long, thin face, and thin beaked nose, 

With squinting eyes and a nasty mouth. 

And I can be nasty when I want to be. 

Few know how great I am — 

Better that they don't. 

They don't know how well I could preach, 

either, 
If I had the chance. 

The other deacons are different from me. 
Thank God and his angels! 
They do not have my talents; 
They are nothing but softies — easy marks. 
They live simply, but I in HauUton, 
Which is French for good society. 
That gives me a chance to look down 
On the scum — plenty of it here in church, 
I dare say. 
Hallelujah! praised be God and I! 



[56] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



MAMIE HOWLES, THE SOLOIST'S SOLO 

If you are singing songs, 

Don't leave me out, please. 

I couldn't endure being slighted! 

Oh no, indeed! 

I must be first, always, 

Because of my talent as a singer. 

When the church-bell 

Claps its heels twice together — 

The double stroke, you know — 

There I am on Sundays sitting in the loft 

Looking as lofty as you please. 

Why shouldn't I? 

Am I not one of the most important people 

In the whole church? 

I think so. 

I lead off the congregational singing 

With a high, shrill voice that jars the roof. 

So fine and loud is it. 

And makes them all stare at me 

In wonder and admiration; 

And in the chants and anthems 

I show myself off beautifully; 

But in the solos I am divine. 

And make every woman in the church 

Most horribly jealous of me — 

More so because I am a beauty, besides. 

[57] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 

I like to see them throw cat's eyes at me- 

Stirs me to a high religious fervor, 

And satisfies my female soul 

As nothing else could do! 

When the Rev. Kinney McKenny 

(I believe he is in love with me) 

Stands up to preach, 

He always turns around to me the first, 

And it almost makes me giggle. 

I seldom hear what he says, though. 

On account of my thinking of myself — 

How wonderful I am. 

How well I sing and look. 

And how they are all jealous of me 

(The women, I mean — 

The men, they love me, I know). 



[58] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



GLADYS POND, THE ORGANIST 

Where, pray, do I come in? 

I should be before the soloist, not after, 

As my job is more important than hers. 

She is nothing 

But a dependent upon me. 

They could not have services 

Without me! 

Let them try, if they think otherwise — 

Ha ha! nobody would come. 

It has always seemed to me 

That people come to church 

To hear the music I serve up — 

Both what I play and what I direct, 

For I am musical director 

Besides being organist. 

Good God! how jealous I am 

Of the singers! 

That is the one thing that spoils 

The Sabbath for me, 

But I can't help it — 

I am a musician, 

And I must be jealous or leave off 

Being a musician. 

Which of course I can not do. 

I am jealous of Kinney McKenny, too. 

And wish him bad luck with his job. 



[59] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 

He is a poor preacher, 

And a poor pastor. 

I seldom get much out of his sermons. 

You say I don't listen to them? 

Well, what if I don't— 

Isn't that my own business? 



[60] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



SONG OF JULIA STOWTON, ONE OF THE 
FEMALE MEMBERS 

I am a female member 

In Kinney McKenny's orthodox church. 

An old maid. 

I used to teach school, 

But now I have boarders. 

One of my boarders 

Is a Unitarian minister; 

I hate his theology 

Because it is dangerous to ours, 

And I would hate him 

If he wasn't my boarder: 

But his money 

Looks good to me — 

Same as anyone else's, of course. 

Sometimes I hate Kinney McKenny 

Because he has such social prominence. 

And is above me in the church. 

And thinks he knows more than I; 

But at other times I almost love him, 

Because he is a man — 

Unaltered even in the altar — 

And makes the sexual thrills 

Run down my back 

When he gets fierce against the heretics 

In the pulpit Sunday mornings. 

[61] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



I think my love for Christ 
Is mainly sexual, too, 
But partly because he will save me 
From the Devil when I die. 
I hate all the women in the church, 
Especially the soloist 

And Kinney McKenny's wife and daughter. 
I am glad that his wife is a nervous wreck- 
Guess I helped some there! 
To be sure I smile on all of them, 
And they all smile on me, 
So lovingly! 

My life would be pretty miserable 
If it wasn't for the fact 
I know that Jesus will save me 
When the trumpet blows. 
Oh, I love Jesus, and Jesus loves me! 



[62] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



HENRY GUDE, THE SEXTON'S SONG 

They gave me this job 

Because I needed it — 

Not out of sympathy but out of contempt. 

So that they could have someone 

To look down on and kick. 

Fine Christians they are, 

The whole damned bunch! 

I know more about each one 

Than I want to tell: 

Gossip is not my specialty, 

Like it is theirs. 

It makes me almost sick 

To ring the bells on Sunday morning — 

i see their superficialities, hypocrisy, 

And sin! 

They can not hide it from me, 

Though little they realize, 

Pretentious, superstitious fools. 

How much I see! 

Bing bong! there goes the double stroke — 

The signal for services to begin. 

Some day they'll have to try cashing in 

Their bogus checks, — 

Then there'll be some fun! 



[63] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



THE DEVIL^S CHORUS 

Ah ha! they come to me 

With tear-begrimed and swollen faces, 

And plead for mercy. 

That pleases me! 

My mercy is a beautiful thing, 

Very much like what theirs was 

When they were on earth. 

Trying to pass off bogus checks 

Is a sinful crime, in my estimation, 

And I make them pay for it 

Whether they like it or no. 

I've had my eye sometime 

On Kinney McKenny's church — 

A rich harvest I'll get out of it! 

I guess the old maid will come first, 

Then the senior deacon, 

And after him the forward member; 

I may have to wait a little while 

For some of the others, 

But time is nothing to me 

Providing I pluck the fruits 

Of orthodoxy 

When they are ripe. 

I'll just enjoy 

Having Kinney down here with me — 

It does me good 



[64] 



SONGS OF THE WORLD 



To turn a trick on a hypocritical Scotchman. 

He's clever enough for the world, 

But he hasn't the ghost of a chance with me. 

If he was just a little shrewder 

Than he is, 

He'd know that a man who only turns his head 

To look at me 

Is mine! 



[65] 



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